Eye of the Tornado
by Inkstain
Summary: Third in 'Four Elements' series. Difficult to summarise...first its a look into Dru's history and some explanations, then at the end she kinda...babbles, a bit. But that's why we love her.


Title: Eye of the Tornado

Series: 'Four Elements' (Number 3)

Author: Inkstain - Doodlefang@yahoo.com

Summary: There's some stuff about Dru's mortal life which is easy enough to follow, but then there's no point trying to be specific in my summary about the end. You can't do it for Dru - she won't abide by it. Basically she, er, thinks. About stuff. Well, Spike. Sort of.

WARNING: Dru's whole world kind of has an underlying current of violence and messed up ideas and references to Christianity and her Daddy as some kind of Satan/God evil angelic...thing. Ok, I say underlying; its more like in your face. Plus, we're also talking about Angelus here. The violence is VERY brutal and evil and twisted, and if you're at all squicked by the idea of death and torture and Angelus's games etc, then first I crack up at your stupidity at wandering towards any of this series, and then I get my Spikebot to point out the exit, 'cause this is not the place for you.

This, in turn, leads to an A/N:

Once more, I wish to point out that I wish no disrespect or offense to Christians. I myself was brought up with that belief through school; now I am not entirely sure what I believe, and I'd say it doesn't necessarily all follow the path of the religion, but that does not mean I have any less respect or care for the religion. Please bear in mind everything Angelus is saying is *supposed* to be derogatory towards the belief - he is trying to hurt and confuse Dru, after all. When I wrote it I was thinking "This is horrible and twisted!" - and please understand that _that_, my own reaction to it, is why it is in here. I wrote it because I think it is what Angelus could have said, what he could have been getting at, and what he could have persuaded Dru to make her crazy. I'm not attacking anyone or anything here - just covering my arse and making that clear!

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, don't sue, yada yada. The dandelions thing is mine. Ha!

Rating: PG:13, I guess. VERY STRONG though. 

Feedback: "Come on, talk to Daddy." Or, ah, talk to mummy. Actually, can we just go with talk to _me_? That's less disturbing.

Timeline: After s6, not long after 'Inferno'. Since there was the whole setting fire to her and Darla thing in _Angel_, Dru's sort of got the point that her Daddy is no longer in residence, so in this she speaks of him in past tense, but can speak about him as Angel differently...eesh, I hope this makes sense.

A/N2: I also forgot to explain Boreas in Icarus' name; and here it comes up again, so - he was a god of Ancient Greek mythology, one of the four winds. The others were Zephyros, Notos, and Euros.

------- Eye of the Tornado

Tempestuous: 

(adj.) Marked by unrest or disturbance

(adj.) Violently disturbed, as by storms

-------__

_London, 1860._

That day, she was almost late for church.

She hadn't been sleeping well. Usually she and her younger sister shared a room but since her fidgeting had been keeping Madeline awake Elizabeth, the oldest sister, smiled and gave up her room on the Saturday night, so that the twelve year old would be fully refreshed for church the next day. But it was not she who overslept; with no sister to make the bed bounce when she arose, Drusilla was found still in uncomfortable sleep when her usual companion came to get a ribbon woven into her hair.

She was pale. Ever so pale.

When Maddy dropped her ribbon in shock and rushed across the room she woke before the girl's hands even touched her, bolting upright in bed with such a choked gasp that Madeline skittered backwards and hit the wooden floor. Her sister jumped from the bed with wide dark eyes and a cry of apology, grasping her hand tightly and helping her up.

And she didn't release it all day. 

Even when Daddy asked if she was ill and should he get the doctor, moving to check her pulse and the temperature of her skin, she kept the hand he lifted joined to Maddy's. Even when Elizabeth joined them to try and dress her quickly so they could all get to sermon on time, she stepped into the dress instead of letting them yank it over it her head, causing more problems. Even when her Mummy stabbed her head accidentally with the hat pin in her haste, she barely flinched, just stood and squeezed Maddy's hand a little tighter. When they got to church she had to hold the hymn book with one hand and couldn't untie her hat properly, having to let it drop and rest round her neck.

The other worshippers whispered that it was her devotion to her family, or her concentration only on the sermon that made her do something so unheard of. But one whispered that mayhaps it was not. Consider if it was one of her...turns, Doctor Simmons murmured to his wife. Like the one he'd witnessed the previous month. She was such a good girl, ever so good and clean and holy; her much admired temperament meaning her family, who were not as well to do as the others in the church, gained a slightly higher place in society and as such the Doctor had invited them for supper that night. He didn't want her acting uncouth at their house.

She had the sight, some said. And Drusilla had seen something that morning.

_Demons go for the weakest first_, the air blowing in from the graveyard through the open side door at the end of her pew whispered, flowing over still partially covered head and making the crinkled pages of her hymn book flutter.

And she pulled Madeline tighter to her side, and tried not to listen.

***

"What is it?"

"Surprise. You have to guess." 

Angelus scanned the street for something special that Darla would have picked for him. A carriage clanked past; mortals milled around smelling, for the most part, worse than the horse pulling it.

However, a house nearby was opening its doors; and out came the scent of well scrubbed skin, pressed best dresses and suits, and a wave of lavender perfume on the plump woman grasping the arm of a man at the front. Pocket watch, sharp eyes with lines around them from years of squinting carefully at things - before the glasses poking out of the top pocket of his dark waistcoat came into play, the hand on the arm crooked for his wife splayed precisely on his well fed belly; Angelus' well trained gaze categorized him in seconds as a doctor, most likely of people he appeared to have just entertained for dinner.

But his attention flicked immediately past what would have made a rich, and easy to play with as evident from the rather jealous expression his wife had in regards to the attention he was getting, meal - to the family behind.

With three young women.

"The three daughters - all virgins."

"Close."

They were quite tall; the youngest looking had not yet shed the puppy fat and ripened into the slender form of the one hanging close by her. It was she who caught his interest; beautiful figure, dark hair, and a glimpse of a finely sculpted face were all pleasing but there was something else. Something about her...

"The one in the middle has something delicate and unique... Did you find me a Saint?"

Darla gave a light chuckle, and Angelus could picture the knowing smile on her face without turning away from the girl.

"Better than that - she has the sight."

As if on cue, the girl turned on her heel and looked straight into Angelus's eyes. It hit him immediately; it felt as though her large eyes saw not only right through him, but _into_ him - into to his past and his present...and his future.

"Visions. She sees the future." He was enraptured without question, and took a couple of steps up onto the pavement towards her, Darla on his arm as the forgotten Doctor's wife was but with none of the same jealousy. "She is pure innocence, yet she sees what's coming, she knows what I'm going to do to her. I'll really have to come up to snuff for this one."

He almost began his play right there; but then the girl seemed to awake from the quiet frozen stare she was giving him and turned her back on them, herding her sisters away with a tight arm around the youngest. He made to follow, but Darla put her hand on his chest.

"Down boy, let the plum ripen."

He relented, and paused to let them disappear around a corner, the seer giving backward looks all the way. As ideas began to play through his head he wondered at his Sire's words, and her intuition of his thoughts. For the middle one would come into her own, that he would make sure of, but another thing was already decided. The youngest would never ripen, and she would be the first to fall from the family tree and cause its sweetest of fruit to turn sour.

*******

That day, she rushed off early to church.

So early, in fact, it was still dark, and the sun would not rise for another hour or so. She debated bringing Maddy with her, but since her dream a couple of weeks before nothing had happened to the girl, and the...man she had seen; the shadowed man outside of church had not re-appeared.

Other things were plaguing her mind now.

The monks were still performing their chants when she arrived, vaguely comforting droning filling the air, but one came her way and nodded when she asked if she could attend confession. He said he would go and get the Father, and she knelt at the altar a moment, making the sign of the cross with trembling hands.

When she entered the confession box there was a form on the other side of the lattice, shadowed deeply; and for a moment something tightened in her stomach with a sensation like almost physically pulling her backwards - but it was just the priest, his face even more disguised than normal with the lack of any sunlight penetrating.

Sitting, she pulled the scarf from her head. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been two days since my last confession."

There was no answer.

"…Father?"

The figure straightened a little behind the grate, then spoke. "That's not very long."

She relaxed in relief - yet there was a part of her head suddenly and desperately trying to tell her something. She ignored it, because the Father deserved all her attention and respect, and things were getting too much and...and..."Oh, Father, I'm so afraid."

"The Lord is very forgiving. Tell me your sins."

"I had..." She took a deep breath, and then had to pause again because the air she took in told her what her head had been so far unable.

The Priest had taken no breath before he spoke. And only evil things take no breath.

For a moment, she wanted to leave. She really did. But that made no sense! No! What was she thinking? Her mind was warping even holy things now, and she berated herself. It had seemed recently to be more as if evil things came _with_ breath, with a whisper on the air into her mind.

"I've been seeing again, Father. Yesterday, the men were going to work in the mine. I had... a terrible fright." She drew a frightened breath, a breath to try and cover the whispers already in her mind. "My stomach all...tied up, and I saw this horrible... crash. My mummy said to keep my peace, it didn't mean nothing. But this morning... they had a cave-in. Two men died."

She stopped to hear the Father's voice again, to hear some advice.

"Go on," was all he said.

"Me mum says... I'm cursed. My seeing things is an affront to the Lord, that only He's supposed to see anything before it happens." Sobs began to take over with her breathing and she let them. "But I don't mean to, Father, I swear! I swear! I try to be pure in his sight. I don't want to be an evil thing."

"Oh, hush, child. The Lord has a plan for all creatures. Even a Devil child like you."

She flinched. "A Devil?"

The Father moved closer to the lattice, but still he was all dark and she was unable to see his expression. "Yes! You're a spawn of Satan. All the Hail Marys in the world aren't going to help. The Lord will use you and smite you down. He's like that."

She was taken with a terrible fear. "What can I do?"

"Fulfil his plan, child. Be evil. Just give in."

"No!" She sobbed, hands twisting in the scarf on her lap. "I want to be good. I want to be pure."

"We all do, at first. The world doesn't work that way."

This...this wasn't right... "Father... I beg you... Please. Please, help me."

There was a pause, then the Father spoke with what sounded like a resigned sigh. "Very well. Ten Our Fathers and an Act of Contrition. Does that sound good?" It did. Even with the fact that there had been no breath in the sigh again, and her own relieved exhalation sounded loud in comparison.

"Yes. Yes, Father. Thank you."

"The pleasure was mine. And my child..." A hand raised and pressed on the lattice between them, and she wondered at it. No Priest had ever done this; should she raise her own and press against it? Should she lower her head to be blessed? Or should she keep away as she suddenly felt she should?

"...Yes?"

The Priest leaned right in, closer than before, and she caught a glimpse of dark hair and her stomach tightened incomprehensibly again.

"God is watching you."

*******

Angelus did indeed watch Drusilla. He saw her leave the box, make her prayers, and slip back onto the street before he made to exit himself, going out through the side door to the graveyard and into the wood it backed onto. Jogging silently, even across the crackly leaves dropped in that autumn, he could sense the sun rising towards the horizon, and when he cut back out of the wood and across the street to the hotel he and Darla were staying in, the air was just beginning to warm up.

The bed he slipped into, however, was cold, even occupied as it was by one - Darla's cool arms opened to him with surprised at seeing him so soon. He had felt similar surprise at seeing Drusilla; his plan had been to wait in the confession box most of the morning until she came in around the normal hours of lunchtime as the rest of the worshippers usually did on weekdays. But this earlier than expected meeting meant other things could be brought forward, and he left his Sire in the bed to race the sun to his familiar watchpoint in the roof of a derelict building, adjacent to the house he had been watching for two weeks.

Maddy never made it to school that day.

***

_Diary of Ian Andrew Thomas, Watcher._

_16th November 1976_

Often when reviewing past accounts of the Watchers that have come before me, I find myself questioning things that they have taken as set in stone; coming up with questions I feel I must have answered to do my job to what I deem a satisfactory level. Having had such success with the research into the history of William the Bloody, aka 'Spike' (human life, 39-44, vampire life 45-55), I am confident in setting out to answer the questions I have regarding Drusilla, second Childe of Angelus (pages 24-35), following Penn (page 36); first Childe of Angelus, himself the Childe of Darla, (pages 22-23); Childe of The Master (pages 17-21).

Considering myself, as I do, an expert on the history, relations, movements and even up to date affairs of the Bloodline of Aurelias, focusing on William the Bloody, I am interested in studying this one question.

What drove Drusilla insane?

While those before me have happily assumed that it was the torture and death of her family by Angelus that made her crazy, I believe that there must have been something more. There are literally hundreds of perfectly sane people walking the earth that have suffered the loss of their families, often in horrific circumstances, and come through it, though emotionally scarred, with their sanity intact. If I myself was to die; if my job leads to my death as is oft the way for Watchers, then I believe that my wife and baby son would go on - and I may be facing a death rather more unique than a usual Watcher now. Though it seems befitting that it would be from 'Spike'.

I saw him last night.

I was on my way back home, not ten minutes before the sun came up, and he just walked past me on the pavement with no more than a second of eye contact, a nod of his head. There he was; right there in front of me! This almost mythological creature I have spent years researching, this vampire I am so familiar with. I know more about him than any human does or ever has; I know about his human life, his poetry, his secrets. And to suddenly _see _him... I could not believe it. His hair has been bleached a whitish blond colour, and it makes the colour of his eyes stand out - they are so much more blue than they have been so far described! To try and relay that colour to someone else... they are radiant. The radiant blue at the base of a candle flame, drawing your own eyes to them and burning their image on the back of your retina.

I know why he is here; with his penchant for Slayers it is no surprise, especially since Niki is making rather a name for herself. But I do not know if he knows me - yet. He will soon, that I do not doubt, he is relentless in his pursuits. As her Watcher that of course means there is a threat to me; but what worries me more is the question of whether he knows of my writing. Of what I have found out about him. I would assume not; from my deduction of his character he does his best to stay away from any literature now, but I will not deny it gives me a thrill to imagine him seeing my interest in him.

I also admit to being rather dismayed when I learned my charge was American and that I and my wife had to relocate, for how could I possibly hope to observe any of the remaining order of Aurelias, mainly 'Spike' or Drusilla, when they have been seen only around Europe? But now, happily, my Slayer has brought him here.

Now that I am faced with 'Spike', however, it has reminded me that I have done very little full research on Drusilla, who I do not doubt is here with him. Barely enough for two pages. I have tried to write about each of the key members of the Order; the fact that there is very little on Darla in my works is because I see only two things worth mentioning with her; that she was a Childe of The Master, and that she turned, and was in a close relationship, with Angelus. There is nothing of interest for me to write that will aid those who will follow, for I write this diary mainly to be a point of reference about the Order, and 'Spike'. If you are trying to learn about Spike she will be of no use to you - but with Drusilla, however, I wish to find a new angle. It is this quest that I will work on for a few days at least, unless Spike shows himself and I am forced to take up other Watcher duties.

My mission is why. This is what I wish to know.

WHY was she insane?

***

When Drusilla returned home that day, slipping back into the bed even before Maddy got up and left for school, she felt as though she would never feel anything again but a terrible confusion.

What was she to do? The Father had told her to do as God intended and turn away from Him. But that in itself made no sense; if she turned away from God she'd be doing what He wanted, she'd still be following His teaching to her, and so subsequently she wouldn't be doing as He had said. She'd be going against His orders, and then she'd be sinning and evil,

- but he'd said He wanted her to be evil!

The Father, who was speaking for God; he had said to just give in, to be evil, to fulfill His plan - and she'd been taught always to follow God's plan for her, to follow His path. But if the path He'd set out led away from Him, then it didn't really, did it? Because He'd created it and she'd still be doing what He wanted even though she'd turned her back on Him. She couldn't face two ways at once, nobody had eyes in the back of their head, nobody had enough eyes for that.

Oh. Oh, but maybe she did! She had a third eye, didn't she? In her mind - if she used that then maybe she'd see what to do!

She tried. Really she did. But she couldn't find it - and then she realised she couldn't control it. And a person should be able to control themselves, to control their own destiny, shouldn't they? To follow their own paths. But...but hadn't she just thought that people followed God's path for them? That's what people said, and that was why Mummy said she was bad, because she was interfering in things only God should do, trying to do what only God was allowed to do. So...so God makes our paths, God sees what is to happen, which would mean that people aren't in control at all.

But she could see things. She had some control. Then...was she a God? She...she might be a God!

For a second Drusilla wanted to giggle with glee. And then the moment after, she wanted to do something she had never wanted to before.

She wanted to hurt herself. She did; digging her fingernails into her palms and berating herself silently in the grey morning light of the bedroom. _Sinner_! She had blasphemed! Not only had she put herself forward as a God and succumbed to the deadly sin of Vanity, she had said there was another God. That was the worst of all sins, and for that she deserved punishment. God was watching her and He would see her uncleanliness. She sent up silent prayers of apology, she begged for help to understand things. To work the riddle out.

Yes, a riddle. That's what it was. A brain teaser, a tongue twister, a riddle she couldn't work out, and all she could feel was confusion. But then she heard

something 

on the air.

Not a whisper like in the church, but a voice. No, a cry. No, it was a scream. A prologue to - another scream.

A real one. A screaming Mummy fainting just inside the doorway of the bedroom, with Daddy behind her carrying Madeleine's broken, bleeding, body; and Drusilla learned that she could indeed feel something else.

The now dead girl's blackboard from school was hung round her torn, gushing neck; the stark contrast of the white dust to the bloody red eye sockets it was in revealed that the chalk pieces had been skewered into the eyeballs before both chalk and eyes were removed, and the words on the board in a thick goop of white and red revealed a message forcibly scrawled by the child as she died.

_'gO dIs wachInDruSILla he HHHe isWacHinandheSe ee s--'_

***

The oldest sister was very pretty. 

No more so than Drusilla, but it was common knowledge that she smiled more often, and it lit up her face and made her look more attractive, somehow. Well, this was what most people - humans - said. Even now, after her youngest sister's horrific murder a few weeks before, she tried to smile, to put a brave face on things; and many commented on how her positive outlook drew them to her.

Angelus didn't agree.

He thought Drusilla looked more beautiful now that she spent most of her time weeping on her knees or praying fervently towards the sky. She even came back to church, the misguided thing. He'd known she would, because what else would she do? Stumbling into the confession box ten minutes after sun had set so that the church would be empty, not five minutes after he had arrived from his previous arrangements, she shook obviously. Her face through the lattice was more gaunt than before; with scratch marks from rubbing - or clawing - at her teary eyes in sleep, and with no shawl covering the thin shoulders unkempt, tangled hair was revealed.

She was stunning. A work of art.

His art.

"Father. Please, I...forgive me, I have sinned, I..don't know how long its been since my last confessi-"

"Five weeks and two days." Actually it would be three once the church clock hands moved past midnight. "But the Lord understands your tardiness. He...sees you have been in much pain."

Her head shot up on the word "sees" as he'd known it would, but he forced himself to keep the smirk off his face in case her deep-set eyes were still sharp even with the obvious lack of sleep. It had been her eyes that had drawn him first of all; playing on his mind so much that his first messages to her had been about sight. It was all about sight, really. He'd been watching her, he would always watch her, and soon, all she would see was him.

"I...I need help. Last time I came to you, you said to give in and...and be evil. As God intends. But...but all I can think is that that doesn't make sense and I cannot possibly turn away from God without staying by Him, and not stay by Him without, in a sense, turning away!" She turned suddenly, delicate fingers clutching at the lattice and hooking through, face so close to it a human could have looked into her shadowed eyes in the darkness without needing enhanced abilities, as he had. "Do you understand, Father? If I do what He says then I'm not doing what He says."

"Hmm." Angelus rested his chin on his hand to hide his smile of delight - which again might have struck anyone as ridiculous with the grate between them, but from her words it was obvious she was getting better at seeing - not with her eyes, but her mind. "It sounds as though the Lord has set you a riddle."

"I...I thought the same thing!"

"Of course you did." He and Darla had discussed it, had decided that she would. It was a sure thing; and lucky for him, considering his latest message. He'd even have bet on her saying riddle, but he was, to Drusilla, a man of the cloth now, and he wasn't allowed to indulge in gambling. "Of course you did; you know your Bible, you know the Lord enjoys challenges. If he has set one for you then you must face it, as Jesus did in the desert when faced with Satan.

You see-"

She flinched again, and this time he had to cough to cover the laugh.

"-*ahem*...the Devil tried to tempt Jesus. He took him to the highest point of the holy temple in the city and said that as he was the son of God he should throw himself down, for it was written that God would command his angels to lift you up and not let any part of you touch the stone. But Jesus replied that it was also written not to put the Lord your God to the test. And he didn't jump."

Angelus paused, scanned Drusilla's frowning face, and then continued.

"That was a riddle for Jesus. But he did not solve it."

The frown deepened, and the once timid girl who would never have questioned an elder, especially a Father, looked at him strangely, and "I don't understand Father. You...you are not making sense."

"Jesus didn't even bother jumping, not even to show the most wicked of creatures the wonderous love God had! He was told not to test God. But he was _Jesus_! The rules didn't really apply there, did they? He was above them! He should have shown the Devil! And yet he didn't jump. Why didn't he jump?"

"B..because he knew God would save him, so there was no point?"

"No! No, child! Jesus didn't jump because he wasn't sure if God _would_ save him! He believed that he would, but belief is not about knowing something. It is about _trusting _something. Jesus _trusted_ that God would save him, but he *knew* that the Devil would, because he knew the Devil was desperate for him and would not let him go. So the reason he did not jump? He was too scared! He hid behind a teaching because what if God _didn't_ save him? People can put their trust in the wrong things. Beliefs can be unfounded. But with the Devil, he was safe and protected either way. Satan never would have let him die, he would have saved him and protected him - but we know God let Jesus die, didn't he? He let him be crucified! So if Jesus had jumped he would have been saved by Satan - by a true God; one that would have saved him always and watched him as a God should. Not like the Lord, who uses us and smites us for fun. We look up to God, Drusilla, but it is the Devil who truly looks back. _He_ is God, and you are his Devil child."

She did not reply for a long time.

He'd expected crying, or shouts of protest at least, but she just sat and stared blankly in complete and abject horror. 

It was absolutely cracking. For a bit. Then he began to get bored, so he spoke again.

"You're going to jump. It is your test, your riddle. You've always believed your God would catch you if you had to do something like that. But now we know better. So come on. What do you _know_, now? Truthfully know?"

"I...know my God will save me, He wil-"

"Have you listened to nothing I have said?! He doesn't want you!"

She gasped in shock and skittered backwards from the lattice.

"He's never wanted you, and the reason why is because you have been given gifts by the Devil - because you are the Devil's child! You are able to see things the other blind sheep cannot. God does not want you anymore - he's giving you back to Satan."

Drusilla finally began to cry. "But I want Him...I love Him..."

"There's no use crying over lost Gods. You know you'll get a new one."

She lifted her head from rubbing at her already sore eyes with thin hands, to stare at him in horror. "You mean Satan...as my new God?"

He beamed. "Yes - you were listening! My you're a fast learner. Although, strictly speaking, you'll get two. Lucky thing."

"Two?"

"Yes. Understand this; you are going to go against God's teaching not to test him, by turning away from him and embracing evil. In a sense, your belief in God setting out a path for you is so great you are more pure than Jesus; you are brave enough to risk everything for God. Jesus wouldn't. And now, the one who catches you gets a Princess fallen from the sky, and they will be your new God. Now ask who the other God is. I know you want to."

She refused to ask. She actually turned her face away and shut her jaw. To a Priest!

He'd never wanted her more.

"Alright then, I shall answer anyway. The second God is you." She turned back so fast she nearly slammed into the lattice. "But, you knew that, didn't you?"

"What...what do you mean? Father? What do you mean?!"

"I'd say surely that you have thought at least once of yourself as a God. And for a moment you liked it. You wanted to smile, didn't you?" Angelus moved closer to the grate as Drusilla unconsciously did the same, pulled by his words. Oh she was aghast; he could actually _see_ what little colour was left in her cheeks drain away, but she was drawn to him all the same.

"...How did you know?..."

"It's obvious for anyone to see, if they look properly. You're a God."

"No... Father, that's blaspheming, I...I _can't_!" She slammed her hands over her ears and tried to shut him out - but she didn't close her eyes. She wanted to, but he could see the obvious effort she made not to give in.

Keep an eye on your Sin...

"I won't listen, I'm not, I'm not..."

He just kept speaking. He covered her words with his and she watched him unblinking through the lattice all the while even as her mouth moved and her head shook against him. "Its not blaspheming child; you only speak the truth. You are a God - not your God, but a different one. So why don't you smile about it? I know you want to, and you should. But you never do. Elizabeth, however..."

Dru stopped. Dead.

"What of my sister?"

"Why all that pretty smiling of course! She does her best to smile, doesn't she? And I have come to an understanding of why. I believe that she knows, Drusilla. She is smiling even after poor Maddy because she is proud to have a sister who is a God" He leaned back from the lattice and blew a loose tendril of hair off his infamous face with a deliberate breath. "Its unfortunate, however. A shame that she blasphemes so. Such pretty features should not have to be marred by the fires of hell."

~Wham!~ He moved back to the lattice, slapping his palms against the wood with a cracking noise that made her jump. "She is a blasphemer. It's alright for you to smile, you have no need for the rules of Christianity, but she... Oh she is a wicked one. A most evil of sinners - praising a God other than the Almighty with her smiles." He hooked his own fingers through the lattice mimicking Dru's earlier actions and bore into her terrified eyes with his own.

For the first time, she truly saw what she was looking at.

"Will you pray for her, Drusilla?"

She was frozen like a frightened doe; and he the one to paint the moment just before flight, the moment it realises someone has just fired an arrow at it.

"Will you pray for the riddle of her smiles to be wiped clean?"

And then she flew. It was truly a fitting description; her feet barely touched the floor as she shot from the box and out of the church, hair streaming out behind her as she ran for home. Mummy had said she could go to church once she'd helped Elizabeth pack the last of Maddy's things away, and she'd been reluctant to let her go because by then, even though it was only 4.00, the early winter sky was dark. She was to be back by 5.00 to help fit Elizabeth's new church dress while her and Daddy were at her Aunt's.

But she was late. Elizabeth's head was already waiting for her on the fitting stool by the window, and outside, in the courtyard, her body was quietly cooking on a fire of dried twigs, melting the ice in a circle around it.

The scream that carried on the air was Drusilla's this time, and like her Mother she fell too; but only to her knees, and she clasped her hands together and she prayed and prayed and prayed. Because Madeleine's blackboard, the one that Daddy had thrown into the river and they had watched sweep downstream into icy water, was back. It was hung on the sliced open edges of Elizabeth's smile - a new smile. A Chelsea smile. A smile that went all the way up to her ears now that a knife had punctured holes along each side from the edge of her mouth and along her cheeks, holes which had ripped and joined after the young woman had been tickled and forced to smile. Written on the board now, in clear printed script, was a riddle, and Drusilla knew the answer. And she knew that this was her fault for having her gift.

For being a God.

-- '_It brings light to something, yet is powered not by wire or wood,_

_Revealing masked weapons with intentions of good;_

_The subject of this riddle is both verb and noun,_

_Its curved movement up turns something else upside down._' --

***

The other deaths were relatively boring for Angelus. Break this, bite that, dodge those gushing arteries so as not to ruin silk waistcoat wanted to be wearing when his new childe appeared, et cetera et cetera. Barely held his interest for an hour but he could not have hoped to top the reaction the oldest sister's death caused, so the parents were disposed of quickly.

In front of Drusilla, of course.

She hadn't moved from the bedroom since the day of her last confession, but a message from her beloved Daddy to please join them in offering prayers to cleanse Elizabeth of sin did it. Angelus felt it was fitting that the two supports of her family, those that had brought her up to love God and in a sense had been the two beams which made up the symbol and beginning of her belief, would be killed in the church itself.

Hey, it might have been an overly poetic but Darla liked it. She had, in fact, proved invaluable in his use of Drusilla's religious convictions to turn her crazy - turning out to be a veritable well of information, problems, and ways of seeing things that showed him once again that his father had been wrong about going to church. The lines about the differences in belief and knowledge were all Darla's words.

After he'd finished killing the Mother, waistcoat ruined and thrown off now anyway since she'd fought him with her nails, he'd pulled Darla onto his lap and confessed to his Sire that he didn't really agree; in his book Jesus wasn't scared off not being caught if he jumped, he was scared of going against a teaching, as every son is scared of disobeying their father. Darla then pointed out that he hadn't been, hanging round all those pubs; to which he replied of course he wasn't scared of his father - he knew he was a God on his own.

No, she'd laughed; he hadn't become a God yet, up until then he was still the son of a God - one that tried to keep him in boring line as well and stop him indulging in the evils of drinking and whoring and gambling. But whereas God had succeeded with Jesus, his Father had not, because creatures such as he could not be kept down. Angelus had growled with pride, and agreed. It wasn't a problem for him; the things his Father had been trying to save him from were things Angelus was damn pleased to be lost in.

In his opinion the Son of God missed out; but then, he was an evil demon with no soul, so perhaps he was biased.

Darla had simply laughed and laughed, calling him "dear boy" and pressing her lips to his. Their conversation had ended there.

Drusilla, on the other hand, not two feet to their right against the church wall, would not. be. quiet. The constant crying and wailing and moaning was starting to get to him now, so as soon as he and Darla were done he pulled away from her and sank his tingling teeth into Dru's smooth, gasping throat.

That shut her up.

***

She woke up sane.

Angelus was furious. 

Months of work and preparation! He'd been sure she was still mad when she'd opened her yellow eyes and merely looked at him for a small eternity. Staring your death in the face was crazy in his book, wasn't it?

But then she sniffed the air, looked away, and asked quite coherently if she could have something to eat.

No whispers, no dancing, no moaning. Nothing. She looked happy. She looked rescued.

Saved.

Ah, Jaesus – feck. _that_. It was just boring. He sighed and went to snap her neck – but then she said it.

"Or are you here to cleanse me of sin, Lord?"

And he understood, then. They'd thought turning her, the 'embracing what God had said, only not what God had said, bla bla yada yada' thing would send her right over. Nobody just _stops_ being crazy.

But she had come to her own decision on things. The Devil had caught her, and now he was her God.

How was that right? He knew he'd actually said that to her, and it wasn't as though he had any problems with being a God - that was sort of what he went for in the whole Sire thing; but this wasn't quite what he'd expected. He'd never thought she'd go for it. Why did she suddenly understand opposites? How could she possibly see contradictory thoughts like that together and be _sane_?

Without having even asked the question out loud she answered it. Now she was a God too, and she understood that she could use her gift of sight properly, and that one day he'd look past her and down at hay-death, and he'd see contradiction, and he'd understand.

He'd grinned at that - he'd thought she was crazy again. But then she laughed at him, shook her head, and no she wasn't.

Sod it.

Looking to Darla for help only resulted in his Sire giving him a blank look, digging her gloved hands into the pockets of her exquisite green coat and shrugging delicately - but then she tilted her head with a quirk of her lips; and, taking her hands out, clapped them to get Dru's attention.

"Ah, Drusilla? You say you're a God, now?"

"No. I'm a demon. I know I'm a demon. But I'm _the_ demon." Dru scrabbled out of her grave and busied herself with dusting off her skirt. "Satan is a God to those who worship him. I am Satan. I am evil; but holy things cannot hurt me because I am a God of demons, and beyond that."

Darla thought for a moment, and then she got one of those smiles that simultaneously turned Angelus on and yet made him want to head underground for cover; even when he'd outright told The Master that he so preferred it up top.

"Child, hold this for me then, would you?"

From the pocket of her coat she brought out an object that made him hiss involuntarily; Dru held her dirty hands out to it with a happy smile. And then as soon as she touched the cross she screamed and dropped it, staring at her now smoking hands in aghast.

Darla shrugged again, this time self satisfactorily towards Angelus, before crouching elegantly to pocket it again, hands still protected by her leather gloves.

"Er, S-" He flicked a glance at Dru, but she wasn't going anywhere, still staring at her hands, so he ignored her for a moment and took a step towards the blond vampire. "-ince when do you carry a cross, Darla?"

"Since you crawled out of your grave you threw yourself all over me, and I didn't want her to get overzealous as well and soil my new coat."

Fair enough.

He made to say something else; but then the screaming began again. Drusilla held her hands up in front of her face, watched as the skin dripped off them and shrieked into the icy December night air.

"But I'm the God, I should be able to touch that! Satan could go into a holy city and temple, I-WHY CAN'T I TOUCH IT?! I'm holy I'm evil I'm a God Devil and I did what he said but I didn't so he should be happy, only sad too, and you're my God as My Devil and I don't understand it I DON'T UNDERSTAND IT I'm lost and confu-"

Angelus knocked her out with her own tombstone. 

He'd had just about enough of that noise.

***

She woke up crazy.

A familiar sort of crazy, an insanity that suddenly made sense. She never stopped seeing things and in her sleep she'd seen the scales. Balance. She wasn't God. She wasn't Satan. She was both and neither. Inbetween. As before she did not make her own path because there were others greater than her; but in turn she was greater than others and could see their paths. She made God happy and sad. She did what he wanted but didn't. He didn't want to see her go but he never wanted her in the first place. She couldn't touch his things but he could touch her, in her mind. Her new Daddy was God and Satan, and could be wicked but that was also good.

Of course she was insane! She had to keep all that, keep both sides steady, in her head; even when there were voices whispering and blowing around her. But in doing so she discovered her place in her purgatory and was content. She never let it get too much again.

Orderly chaos. Planned insanity. Regimented lunacy. 

All in all, completely cuckoo.

It was a huge relief.

***

_Diary of Ian Andrew Thomas, Watcher._

_21st November 1976_

Having pondered the question of the cause of Drusilla's insanity non stop for five days, it is with a heavy heart I must admit defeat.

I cannot come to any other conclusion than that Angelus' games with Drusilla must have been far more horrific than anyone has presumed. It is true, however, that I am relieved to be ending this quest, and not only because it leaves me to focus on the more imminent threat of Spike - Niki has been pestering me to pay more attention to her, impertinent girl. No, it is not just that. I have other reasons for being so happy to pass on the gauntlet.

I fear that trying to catalogue Drusilla's mind properly will lead only to insanity for myself, too.

***

_2002_

I have four good friends; four I tell everything to. How many do you have?

Not that many I'd wager; I have more than most have and I know it, because I know a lot; and that's in thanks to them because they tell me things back. We talk and talk and talk and have for ever so long. One from the North, one from the South, one from the East, and one from the West. And they whisper into my head and I whisper back, and they are very dear to me. But they can be naughty. Their words can be

stinging

and turn things on their heads. I like it best when they tell me those stories.

I know each of them so well - I've travelled all over with my family, my Daddy took me everywhere, and so I've been to all their homes, you see. We flew to each of them; and we could because my daddy was an angel, and he gave me wings. I was grounded when I was human, but he took me away and he made it better. And then I could fly. He didn't ever fly, he liked to walk the earth too much, he was too much part of it; but he let me. Because I was his Princess and I fell and he caught me, and he was my devil-angel.

Angelus, really. But I know Latin, and I know it means 'angel'. So he was an angel. He was my angel. And he was from heaven but not really, because he was wicked. Ever so wicked.

A lovely Daddy with large hands and

hard fists

and his eyes were sometimes tree green. Still are, even though it's the Angelbeast. Green eyes, root of our family, my Daddy. Have you seen them? Grandmum says they're brown, you silly girl. She's the silly one. Not brown. It makes me laugh when she says brown because she used to insist that she found the most beautiful creatures, but she still calls his eyes a dull colour. They're sometimes green when I look at him, yes, but mostly they're wood. Oak. Beech- mahoganypiano that made music when he had you in his gaze because I could hear the singing, all the little string cords of his skin getting hit by a little hammer. A little fairytale Snow White hammer, that knew just where to

strike

him to get the right response, and she has played him over and over always because she knew how. But now she's gone away again, and she only dances for me now.

My Spike dances to music, too. But it's different music. Its music of someone I don't know; starch skirts and big eyes and inflated ego, and now an amulet, too. And there are other songs:

- Daddy's music. Not the one made by Grandmum, because its different now, he's different now, he's not my Daddy; but he has a song of his own he gets in his heart when he is near William, and William listens for it, and that hasn't changed.

- Grandma's herself. She quivered and danced just like Spike. But she knew how to stop. He doesn't.

- And mine. Spike likes my songs, they touch him deep and

rip

and whirl right through him. Ever dancing he is. Shining bright like a star. A flame. I can sing, I can talk to him and my breath makes him flicker. He's like a puppet. I've held his strings, and I will admit we've played a game, they and I. I had lots of fun, but I sometimes wonder if Spike did.

Oh I did so love to make him dance. But he's gone, now, and he hasn't danced for ever so long, and Grandmum is gone, though sometimes I can still talk to her. And Daddy is gone. I have no-one with me constantly but my four now; and one of them is whispering such awful things today... I've turned my back on him and will not listen. He's trying to be a dandy-cat, and tell me the time, the time of something, and fill my head with silly things. Well I say its lies, and shall not pay attention any more.

I don't like dandy-cats. They try to do what I do but they can't. I know the air, we have so many lovely conversations. I float on it, and I hear people's whispered wishes. They whisper to the lions too - what's the time Mr wolf? But it's a cat, not a wolf, it's a lion, a dandy-lion and it lies, it tries to cheat time. A person blows on it and scatters its brains everywhere and they fill peoples' heads with lovely nonsense about the clocks.

Only a vampire can rule time. I am young and beautiful always, and only I may get into people's heads. Bad cats. It's my job. I tense my fingers and catch a person's eye and crook my head to them, and I can flutter into and through their minds. All the little bits of the dandy-lions I take have gone into me and I am almost blown up with their stories and nonsense now. I know - Grandmum said so.

She tells me often that I'm full of it.

And, and I keep getting more from them but its not stealing because it should be mine in the first place. I stop them. I

stamp

on them. Stamp them out.

Did I stamp Spike out? I look for him now in my head and he's all blackened and dark, and I can barely see him. I don't see the star in his eyes anymore, not even when _I'm_ in his head, and I'm a Princess.

In fact, he's dark especially when I'm in his head. Just like the Angelbeast. That...that horrible whisper on the air...Boreas said that he's a Spikebeast now. With a...soul.

It's not true! Its not true, it isn't I don't believe it I don't like it

it hurts

it's a nasty lie and I won't play with the four again until they say sorry. He...he tells me he knows a kindred spirit who learnt things from Grandmum all about Spike a long time ago, and I want to trust him but what he says is wrong and you have to

punish

those who do wrong. I tried to feed my Spike and rekindle him before, when the tin soldiers rationed him, but he wouldn't follow me and just before, just now I tried again and all it did was make the ashes scatter in the wind, and he cried and took shelter from my tornado in his cave. Cave with paintings on the wall - oh! Did you see the paintings? They truly were, you know. Not photographs, not drawings, but

pain

tings, and the things they showed were death and horror and sadness and wonderful things that I'd seen already:

White witch's heart getting holy. No. Getting _holey_. Which witch was the witch, though? Which witch got killed? Both were white, light and sun and sparkle, and then one was blown out but it made the other one's heart

bleed

too. It was delicious. I almost couldn't tell who was dead and who was just starting to live a little.

And a man on fire. But not my Spike. Oh no. A naughty man. Killer. Wood and a Witchflame. Black Witch. I think it was Little Tree - so she was the Witch, and the other one was the witch. The one who said she got lost. Went into her own head and then saw what others did not.

Shiny green light. Got the sight. Like me. I've always had that, you know. And its even better now that I look into my own head for it. Colours and sounds and whispered pretty tales of things to come. Or things that have been. She wasn't lost, silly one. She saw more that way.

I once was lost but now am found. Was blind but now I see.

She doesn't see anymore, though. But the worms will eat her eyeballs, and the beetles her brain - and then when her head is empty of all that she'll have space to fly all round it like I do, and the winds will tell her stories.

I once was lost but now am found. Was blind but now I see.

Spike was lost. I found him. Or he found me. I was drawn to him, his warmth called me, and I flew to him that night. Moth to a flame. Then Daddy saw him and he took him from me and it made me cross. Such a big cross he gave me, and then he stood on high and looked down on hay-death and took...

But, but not completely. Spike loves me. Always will. I'm his Princess, too. I can fly on the night air and he remembers when he used to dance on it with me, and I think...I hope that now if he's - not that I believe it mind you - but if...Boreas doesn't like to lie anymore and...maybe Spike'll tell the truth like he always does because he's always my naughty, clever burning boy and he could dig up what's been buried. Buried deep. Might admit that he still wishes he could fly with us too.

So many sad hearts recently. Her heart gone, so her heart lost. And his heart burning. Walter Tyrrel has shot my William and his heart will

bleed and bleed

again and his blood will water the earth anywhere he goes. As he goes...West?

What? I...don't lie Zephyr you mustn't lie to me... no! But..but my naughty boys don't agree on anything! Opposites and different and Angel's different to us all.

Oh. Oh, but not any more. I hear things that I do not like but if they are true, then where else would he go? They are the same now. Well, in one way. My boys argue lots. Full of opposites. But who isn't? And opposites balance each other. Especially in us. Every reaction must have an opposite reaction. Matter and anti matter and dead but not dead. Keep in balance. Four elements, four humours, black white left right. Can't tip the scales no matter how big you are; everything sorts itself out. Even when you're a wicked vampire, even when you're a King as my Daddy was these rules still apply. Best at the night; can't go out in day. Wounds heal fast; hair and nails and teeth, even snappy teeth grow slow if you lose them, if they fall out of charred gums after

burning

and hurting and laughing by people in Prague and... outsides. Outsides ever so pale; insides ever so red. Up down in out. Never get taller, never get older; and only thing that does get taller and grows can

skewer

you! Balance, opposites. Those two - light and dark, so different, but common ground now. They both have soiled souls

Yes Boreas, stop breezing round my head, I believe you, but I still shut my ears to anything else you may whisper because you laughed at it, and only I may laugh, because I am the only one who can see.

I am the only one that seems to see this. I see that you

can't escape

things, but you can get past them. Angel, oh, he says its not true, it isn't I don't believe it I don't like it it hurts - and Spike is starting to as well. The apple never falls far from the tree, even if the tree is splintered and more shrivelled than ever from its encounter with Winter.

But the rotten apple. A rip through the core and whoosh! in goes apple and then apple turns bad. And now he is the spiteful boy, my grandson and brother and uncle all rolled into one, and Angel tries to make him better but the worm is hard to catch. He locked you in ice water but you know how to deal with the cold, don't you Angel? And he can call you Daddy and it's not fair. My _Spike_ was supposed to be your boy, he needs you now but that rotten apple pixie child is everything to you. He's bad!

And he's the only good thing we ever did together...

Oi, Zephyros, bide your tongue. I shall not speak to you anymore; I do not want to have tea and talk, you come from the West itself! From the Angelbeast and the shining girl and the others.

The others... If he's going, then the others might include Spike, now, too. If what you say is true. I've turned my back on them, but I don't want to turn my back on him. Do I have to turn my back on him? Not my Spike. I can't! And he can't.

No, not can't. He _won't_! My brave knight won't! He'll refuse and he'll love me always!

Oh. Oh oh. The family is changing again Grandma. Can you see it yet? I know you're following it all, I know that you followed him especially; and I know that you did before as well - but don't worry, I won't tell anybody, shh shh.

I can tell you, if you want. I'll see it first; I am a living-dead-demon-God after all. And you're just boring old dead.

So do you want me to tell you what happens? I think it'll make me smile, and I'll tell you what - I'll let you smile too. We can smile and not be punished like Lizabeth was. Because now everything's getting turned on its head, just as I like it, and we can smile for a different God and it won't need to be punished.

I haven't had anything to smile at for such a long time.

Can I smile, now?

END

_A/N: For those who didn't get it, the answer to the riddle is a smile._

_And who, I hear you ask, is Walter Tyrrel? On August 2, 1100, King William II was out hunting in the New Forest, Hampshire, with seven friends. They spread out and hid in the trees, and then two stags came into a clearing. William shot at the one in the fore but missed, and the stag galloped off into the forest. His friend Walter Tyrrel shot another arrow but also missed: his arrow supposedly glanced off the stag's back, and hit William in the heart, killing him. When the other friends gathered around his body Walter protested his innocence. He maintained that there was no way the arrow could have done that and hit William (There is and always has been many other theories and suspicion, but I won't go into them now!) but he realised that he would still be blamed and fled. The rest of the company also scattered, and William's body was left in the forest to be discovered by a charcoal burner, who loaded it up onto his cart and took it 20 miles to Winchester._

_It was said that the king's blood watered the earth all the way._


End file.
